“Yeah?”
“You’re going to be fine.”
I step out of the stall and stop to look in the mirror before leaving. The pendant is still glowing faintly in the reflection. Distracting me from the dark circles under my eyes, the frizz of my hair begging for a keratin treatment and my outdated Marshall’s blazer that all screams one thing: Charlotte Tate. I hate it.
“I’m fine. I’m going to do great,” I say to myself, unconvincingly.
A sudden cool draft sweeps across my neck making me shiver.
“Are you sure about that?” A voice unlike my own cuts through my thoughts, slow and high pitched, sending chills along my shoulders. My eyes dart across the empty bathroom before I finally step back out into the office.
Back at my desk, another set of notifications await my return. All I can think to do is look up that expression I just heard. The translation appears in Portuguese—“the light knows.” A chill crawls up my back.
What the hell does that mean?
Before I am able to process, a message from Aidan pops up on my screen.
Aidan:Sorry, hun. You know I can’t properly sleep unless I am in my own bed.
I sink back into my chair, feeling my limbs loosen before I start to reply.
Charlotte:Okay, we’re good? I just don’t want us to be weird.
He responds within seconds.
Aidan:Of course we’re good, Charlotte. Same old, same old.
Charlotte:I’m about to go into another big meeting that they invited me to. Things are looking up. Might even impress Cheryl and John Whitmore.
It doesn’t go unnoticed that he didn’t even mention the late-night drive. I begin typing the wordsI could really use…when Chris walks into the office for the first time today. I shove my phone in my drawer as I frantically tap on my mouse to light up my computer.
I dive into my research for Holden.
Chris walks straight into his office, sunglasses on, lowering the blinds down on every panel of glass until we can no longer see him.
My eyes revert back to Holden’s IMDb, scanning his last five projects. Every review is more brutal than the last when I pull up each project on the most notable reviewer page, Apples for Apples.
Nothing really stands out sinceAll or Nothingfrom 2017 to 2021. From there, I dig into every salacious article written about him in the last year. My Word document is flooded with shorthand notes that make sense only to me. I think I have a grip on why this hasn’t been working out for him.
Before the meeting, I even research the restaurant menu so I can preplan my meal—something that would be good as leftovers for two more meals.
I settle on the penne pasta with creamy chicken, mushrooms and asparagus, paired with a sweet tea, rehearsing in my head how I would go about bringing up my ideas this time.
An hour later, a group of us are seated around a circular table in the back of Giardino Segreto’s. I’m ready.
In the array of options he could have chosen from, I am surprised it’s here. A well-known Italian restaurant in West Hollywood. It’s no Nobu or Mr. Chow, but it’s the best Italian you are going to get in this area.
The guest of honor is missing.
His absence is well-known, as it’s been forty-five minutes of us sitting, picking at bread sticks while we fumble around with small talk, waiting for him.
A group of people who are of a variety of different ages with nothing in common except for the place we work at.
When Holden finally arrives. His eyes look strung out. Instinctively, I clutch onto the pendant as soon as the “real” conversation comes into play, tightly grabbing my phone on my lap with my notes ready.
The glowing blue light appears as soon as the conversation starts. No one in the room seems to notice except me.
Holden takes off his leather jacket and places it over the back of the chair. His muscles are defined even when he is relaxed. Blinking quickly, I re-center myself on the current conversation.
